


Goodnight, New York

by susiephalange



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Female!Reader - Freeform, Fluff, Ice Cream, Love Actually References, Reader needs a hug too, unemployment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 16:49:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6915265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After New York, your work is trashed beyond insurance repairs. Thus, unemployment! Lucky you and Clint have each other's backs (even if he was partly at fault for you losing your job). At least Kate's here to keep it light hearted.</p><p><i>Previously titled <b>Unemployment, Ice Cream</b></i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodnight, New York

Great, you think, kicking an empty Pepsi can across the street walk, one hand on your messenger bag strap, the other moodily shoved into your pocket. Trust my boyfriend's career to end mine.

You were, no, had been, a waitress in a quaint little Italian restaurant on one of the blocks the major part of what was now known as 'The Battle of New York' took place. You'd been stuck in the building during most of the fight, watching the aliens and the mad scramble of the superhero group Clint Barton - your boyfriend, the Hawkeye - was a part of and the police manage the fight. You'd called his cell; up until a day before, you'd been out of contact with him, he'd not returned to the apartment to you and Lucky. When you called the emergency contact, Phil Coulson, he just said it was, in his usual tone, "Classified". So you'd assumed he was on top secret spy business or hiding out until something blew over. It wasn't like Kate didn't practically live with the two of you either; you weren't alone.

But now you were.

Because of that stupid battle because of that crazy yellow-horned hatted man and his crazy weird army, your place of work had been destroyed beyond the compensation of the insurance companies. And thus, Angelo, your boss, had released everyone on staff, each with a parting gift of an A4 paper sized recommendation for your next employment and a stick of garlic bread.

"Great. Now I'm jobless," you huffed, scuffing your feet into the concrete. "Wonder what Clint'll think of that."

As if on cue, your phone buzzed his tone, that mugshot you took on the sly filling the screen. How was it that his resting face looked like he wanted to kill everyone?

"I didn't expect you to pick up, I thought you'd be on shift," his surprised voice filled your ear. At once, at just the sound of his voice and the stress had lifted a little almost instantly from your shoulders. "It's seven, it's it? That's your shift, right?"

You took a deep sigh. "Clint Barton, you are so right, right now," you mused, "and you probably already know why I picked up the phone instead of letting it ring out as if I really were at work."

"You're not at work?" There was a pause. You could hear the cogs turning, practically, "Don't tell me..."

You let out a shaky laugh. "Yep. That battle you were in, made my work shut down. Ruined the premises, ruined the business. Buh-bye employment."

He snorted at your wording. "That is awful, ________. Hey, what about you come home, we'll throw a pity party -,"

You fake retched, "No, no, I'm not having a pity party. That's too sad."

"Then what do you want?" he huffed, playing his pretend annoyed mood that made you want to get him into a headlock and make out with him sometimes.

"Well," you began, looking at your nails, smiling to yourself, "I want you, me and Lucky sitting around in the apartment, just being together. Maybe a light candle if we have one."

There was a pause on Clint's end. "How about Kate? She's already here."

"Sure!" You laughed. "Ask if she has a candle on her...oh, and I have one request."

You could almost hear his smirk through the phone as he replied, "Shoot."

You glanced to the street sign to figure out how many blocks you had to walk until you were home in the dinky, dank apartment, "This situation calls for ice-cream and Love Actually."

"You've got it, boss."

____________________________________

"Sucks to be you, doof-face," Kate sympathizes, the first thing that comes from her mouth. You didn't even knock yet, the door was already open, and her arms over your shoulders with a tight hug that lasts as long as it started. She gestures for you to follow her in. "Well, come in, _______, this movie won't pause itself."

You hear Clint groan from the other room before you can ask. As you see him, hair ruffled, white shirt with the ironic, iconic bulls-eye, cute sweats you adore more than his sandy hair, he elaborates, "There was an accident, and we need to replace the remote...all we can do is eject the discs and -,"

"Love you too, Clint Barton," you roll your eyes, planting a kiss on his lips. God, it sucked to be jobless. But it defiantly sucked less to be the girlfriend of Clint. And have Kate around. She was simultaneously like an annoying step-sister and a mischievous, steadfast daughter to you, if that were possible. "And don't worry about the remote, we'll get another tomorrow."

You hear a snort. "You don't have a job anymore, though," Kate sung out from the kitchen. "Some adult you are."

"I'm an adult and can waste my money however which-way I want to!" You sing back to her, kick off your shoes.

"I'm an adult too and I don't know what I'm doing half the time!" Clint chimes in.

Kate hisses. "Shhh, Hawkass, I'm trying to watch Hugh Grant fall for the caterer," she grumbles.

Joining them at the TV, you settle into the couch and the curve that's perfectly _______-shaped in Clint's side. With his arm around you, you're close enough to see he's mouthing along to all the lines the actors on-screen have. It's a thing he does, when watching movies; you found out six months into the relationship with Hawkeye that it improves his memory of the film and lessens the dependency on his hearing aid.

"I love you," you whisper to him, closing your eyes.

Yeah, you had a shitty day, had had a shitty boss who hadn't had the decency to tell you before arrival of your being sacked, had a shitty apartment, but, being with the guy you're spooning, it was worthwhile.

Clint hums, the tone he uses when he didn't quite catch what was said. You take your hands from around his waist, and sign, I love you, right where he could see it.

Sorry about your unemployment, he signs back. Not sorry we get to watch this.

It should be our official workplace tragedy movie. You pause, watching the little boy practice the drums on screen. Knowing us, we'll always have stuff like that.

Clint chuckles, and not at the sappy romance on-screen.

Cut to the credits, and just as Clint goes to stretch and call it a day from the tiny bedroom the two of you share, his hawk eyes see something notable.

"________," he mumbles, waking you from your half-slumber through heavy lids, "Katie's asleep. Don't think I've ever seen her not buzzing around."

He's right. Kate Bishop is a bee who buzzes around socially and antisocially, but her sting is worth the venom of her friendship. You smile slightly, and peer to see where the other Hawkeye has crashed.

On the floor. Just - just on the floor. Head tilted weirdly, curled up like a cat in her purple pyjamas. Snuggled beside her is Lucky.

"Should we move her?" You ask Clint.

He shakes his head, and you know why. Last time she'd fallen asleep in your car, someone - Clint, poor Clint - had attempted to take her into the apartment, only to end up loosing a fist fight. Kate Bishop was always down to fight. Even when sleeping.

"We should go to bed," you yawn.

Clint rubs his eyes, turning to face you. His eyes are bleary, his face drooping in that sort of tiredness that comes from workplace stress and life in general.

"But - but I'm not sleepy," he yawns.

It's been a long day. A long week. A long life, and you know it right now. All you need to do now to finish the ritual of initial unemployment is take your loving, overtired boyfriend who was tired already before watching the two and a half hour romance movie.

"Yes you are," you kiss his cheek, and pull him toward the bedroom. "Time to sleep in until noon tomorrow."

Clint's frown turns upside down. "I can't argue with that offer, now can't I?"

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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